Tao Te Ching – Chapter Twenty-Six
Written by Lao-tzu – From a translation by S. Mitchell
The heavy is the root of the light.
The unmoved is the source of all movement.
Thus the Master travels all day,
without leaving home.
However splendid the views,
she stays serenely in herself.
Why should the lord of the country,
flit about like a fool?
If you let yourself be blown to and fro,
you lose touch with your root.
If you let restlessness move you,
you lose touch with who you are.
How I Read This Chapter
The stillness at the centre,
is where strength is born.
The weight beneath the waves,
keeps the surface calm.
The one who lives deeply rooted,
isn’t thrown by changing winds.
They move through the world,
but don’t lose themselves in it.
Even beauty doesn’t distract them.
Even chaos doesn’t shake them.
Their home is within.
Their peace is planted deep.
Restlessness uproots.
Foolishness scatters.
But the grounded one
moves without being moved.
What This Means To Me
In the madness of addiction, I was always chasing something—pleasure, distraction, escape. I was light on the surface but heavy with turmoil inside. My restlessness controlled me. I flitted from mood to mood, desire to desire, person to person. I had no root. No weight. No anchor.
This chapter reminds me of what I lost—and what I’ve found again in recovery.
“The heavy is the root of the light.” I used to think that heaviness was a burden: the past, the pain, the shame. But now I see it differently. The heavy things—my truth, my honesty, my willingness to be real—these are what ground me. They don’t weigh me down; they keep me from being blown away.
I used to be moved by everything: other people’s opinions, my cravings, the highs and lows of life. One harsh word could ruin my day. One moment of loneliness could send me spiralling. I was always in motion but never truly going anywhere.
But recovery has taught me to be still. To return to myself. I no longer have to chase peace—I can be peace, when I’m centred.
“Thus the Master travels all day without leaving home.” That line moves me. Because I used to think peace was somewhere else—some new job, some perfect relationship, some better version of me. But the truth is, serenity isn’t a destination, or anything external. It’s an inside job.
Now, I try to live from that place within. I still have days when I get lost in the chaos of the world—when I scroll too long, worry too much, compare too often. But the Tao—and my recovery—keep calling me back. Back to the root. Back to the weight that holds me steady.
“If you let restlessness move you, you lose touch with who you are.” That was my life before sobriety—lost in the spin. But today, I move more slowly. I pause. I pray. I breathe. And in that stillness, I remember, I am, who I am: not what I do, not how I feel, not what others think—but a person planted in something deeper. A life rooted in grace.
The world will always offer splendour and distraction, excitement and escape. But I no longer want to flit about like a fool. I want to stay home in myself. I want to walk through the world without losing my place in it.
And that, to me, is the gift of the Tao. And of recovery.
